


The Waves That Break

by centreoftheselights



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alliances, Angels, Demon Deals, Demons, Episode: s08e23 Sacrifice, F/F, Gen, Heaven's Civil War, Leviathan - Freeform, Loyalty, becoming human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 09:18:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/centreoftheselights/pseuds/centreoftheselights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Janiel falls from grace, and she is lost. A demon is the first one to find her.</p>
<p>A study in the politics and loyalties of Heaven, Hell and Earth post-season finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Waves That Break

**Author's Note:**

> A wild plot bunny sparked by the season finale. All characters in this fic are to some extent OCs, but they are all based on minor characters from the show; for more details (including screencaps), see the end notes.

When she falls, she falls into water.

No, that’s not quite right.

When Janiel falls, she smashes into the surface of the lake with enough momentum that every bone in her vessel’s body shatters, only to heal in a moment as the last flares of her grace ignite inside of her. She is disoriented, lost, _drowning_ , but already her legs begin to kick towards the surface. If she wished to probe that flesh memory, she would find more to it, recall chlorine-tinged waves and a swan dive from the highest board, but she has no wish to dig into her vessel’s past. She is more concerned with the pain of her grace tearing itself loose of her essence.

She cannot feel her wings.

Her head clears the surface, and the first clear sensation she has is relief. She can breathe again.

It’s strange how bright that thought is, when she had never needed to before.

She kicks her way to shore and drags herself out of the water. The night is dark. Her vessel shudders uncontrollably. Everything which was bright about her has burned into ash and cinders.

“You need some help down there?”

Janiel does not turn. “I do not require any assistance. Go about your business.”

She bites back the urge to append “human.” Distancing herself was easier when she knew she was not one of them, but now her senses are compressed to a handful of wavelengths, her mind buzzes with sensation, and her body shakes itself out of control.

“But I came all the way out here.”

The voice is much closer the second time, and she leaps to her feet, startled by her own lack of awareness. When she sees the source of the voice, she stills.

“Demon,” she says low, summoning her blade.

The blade does not come.

She hesitates, grasping about herself. She finds she is not unarmed – tucked within her vessel’s waistband is a sword that feels familiar in her hand, for all it does not sing to her as it should. She raises it, well aware that the hellspawn could have attacked her at any time in her distraction and she could have done nothing.

If she is still alive, there is a reason for it.

“Sheridan,” the demon says, through blackened mouth, although the vision of it flickers against the neatly made-up meat it is riding.

“What is your business, filth?” Janiel demands.

“My name is Sheridan,” she repeats, pointedly. “See, humans have this ritual. I say my name, you say yours. I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it real soon.”

“Why should I believe a word that comes out of your mouth?”

The demoness – Sheridan – rolls her eyes. “Because I only have to flick my wrist, and you’re nothing but blood in the water. So if I say I’m the Queen of England, you’d better damn well curtsey.”

Janiel wants to fight, or at least argue. But it’s true. She could not smite a dung beetle in her current state. She is nothing.

“Jan -” she begins, stumbling over the –iel. It means ‘of God,’ her father’s name on her lips. She cannot speak it.

“My name is Jan,” she insists.

“Yeah,” Sheridan says. “I’m the liar here. Well, Jan, I want to talk to you.”

“I have no congress with demons,” Janiel tells her.

“I bet you don’t,” Sheridan remarks, relishing every word. “Maybe I should rephrase that: I want to make a deal.”

Janiel finds the laugher rips itself from her throat without her invitation. “I have no soul to sell. And this is hardly a crossroads.”

“Ah, but it is,” Sheridan tells her. “Biggest one I’ve seen in a while. Only first, let’s get you somewhere warm.”

 

Janiel stumbles her way through the woods. Her muscles are still not quite co-operating, but when Sheridan lays a hand on her arm to steady her, she recoils in disgust, and the demon hisses “suit yourself.”

This doesn’t suit Janiel in the slightest, but she is not yet so far fallen as to entrust her weakened vessel to an agent of the Pit. She may not be able to fly, but she can still make her own way to their destination.

Or so she believes, until Sheridan comes to a halt.

“You can’t go into town wearing that,” she insists, turning towards a tree.

It looks much like any other tree in this forest, and while Janiel knows that each living organism has its own history and beauty, she had never until today appreciated how sharp low-hanging branches could be, or how fast they could snap back when pushed aside.

“My appearance is perfectly –”

“You look homeless,” Sheridan cuts her off. “Drowned businesswoman isn’t a good look for you. Put these on.”

She hands Janiel a plastic bag. She opens it to see fresh clothes.

“You’re lucky I plan for emergencies,” Sheridan says with a smile.

“You –” Janiel’s jaw shudders, and she loses her thought suddenly, forcing her to begin again. “You intend me to wear these?”

“They might be a little loose, but it’s the best we’ve got. Hurry up, would you?”

Janiel glances at the clothing again, and then up at Sheridan. The demon is watching her still, and she feels a slow warmth spreading across her vessel’s cheeks.

Sheridan laughs. “Don’t tell me you’re _shy_?”

“Custom dictates –”

“Wow, you really are out of the garden, aren’t you?” The words sting, but Sheridan looks more surprised than malignant.

She turns, and Janiel realises there is no more excuse to put off her disrobing. She brings a hand to the button on the collar of her shirt, and attempts to manoeuvre it open. It’s harder than humans made it seem, and her vessel’s fingers seem stiff and clumsy, unwilling to co-operate. It takes her a full minute to force the hard circle of plastic through the stiff, narrow slit in the fabric.

There are eight buttons on this shirt, and two more on her jacket – although one of those seems to have fallen open of its own accord. The trousers, fortunately, do not have any, but in their place is a zip topped by a curious catch mechanism she cannot fathom.

“What’s taking so long?”

“I am going as fast as I can,” Janiel insists, moving onto the second button.

Sheridan glances over her shoulder, and sighs. “Really? It’s like you’re a two year old.”

“I have existed for millions of years,” Janiel says sharply. “And not once in the history of this planet have I ever been required to deal with something so trivial as buttons.”

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” Sheridan rolls her eyes, and Janiel bites her lip against a surge of anger. “Here, let me.”

The demon makes light work of the buttons, and Janiel’s shirt is open down to her chest before she has a chance to react.

Emotion wells up inside of her, knotted and heavy and nameless. She had thought that the fighting, the endless deaths and power struggles and the end of God’s plan – she had thought that was the worst that could happen. She thought she had accepted the fact that her father no longer cared for any of them.

But to come to this – to be lost and fallen, shivering in the cool night air as a demon strips off her shirt with an air of clinical disgust – this is below even her greatest doubts. This is _less_ _than_ _her_.

Yet she can barely live up to it.

Heat prickles at her eyes and trickles down, wetting her cheeks.

Sheridan pauses.

“Pull yourself together,” she commands. “We’ve got a way to go yet.”

“It isn’t _voluntary_ ,” Janiel hisses back, although her vessel ruins it by sniffing loudly. “I can’t –” Another sniff. “– make it _stop_.”

Sheridan sighs. “Yeah, bodies do that sometimes. You’ll get used to it. It’s just like falling off a bike.”

She hands Janiel the dry shirt, and Janiel snatches it out of her hands. This time, there are no fastenings, and she at least manages to pull it over her head in one fluid motion, smoothing it over her torso. It’s soft against her skin, and the unexpected warmth of it sends a pleasant sensation down Janiel’s spine.

“See?” Sheridan smirks. “You’re doing better already.”

 

They reach the outskirts of town not long after they start moving again, the wilderness giving way to structure and streetlights. It’s late, and no-one is on the streets. Nowhere seems to be open.

Sheridan walks up to a building seemingly at random and raps against the dark glass. A crack of light spills out from a back room as a woman opens the door.

“You’re late,” she says. “I was about to leave.”

“Then that would have been your loss, wouldn’t it?” Sheridan replies.

The stranger seems to notice Janiel for the first time, and she feels herself dissected by dark and darting eyes. Something tightens in her stomach, but she doesn’t know why.

“What have we here?” The woman’s face broadens into a smile that shows too many teeth. “A little bird with a broken wing.”

Realisation strikes Janiel like an icy wave. “Leviathan.”

She fumbles for her sword again, but Sheridan’s hand stops her.

“I go by Susan,” it says. “Relax. I don’t bite unless you give me a reason to.”

“This is Jan,” Sheridan introduces. “Now, can we come in? I want to get some coffee in her.”

Susan leads them through an empty room full of tables and into a kitchen. It’s warm in here, and once she’s out of the wind, Janiel finds there is a faint tingling sensation in her fingertips.

“Sit,” Sheridan insists, and Janiel stumbles to the chair, almost falling into it. It’s only in sitting that she realises how her feet had ached from standing. There are other chairs, but Susan continues to stand by the counter, and Sheridan busies herself at the stove.

“I take it this explains the meteor shower,” Susan comments. “Half the town was convinced it was an alien invasion.”

“She fell in the lake just outside town,” Sheridan explains. “It’s lucky I was the first one to find her.”

Janiel frowns at that, but she’s more concerned with the intensifying buzz in her extremities, which is just starting to edge into pain. She blinks, forcing herself to focus.

“What are you planning on doing with her?” Susan asks, glancing in Janiel’s direction. Her attention feels predatory, and her vessel’s heart pounds, but Janiel knows she cannot fight or flee in her current state.

“I wanted to cut her in on our deal.” Sheridan says.

Susan freezes. She takes her weight off the counter, turning to face Sheridan.

“I’m not in your _deal_. We agreed that this was information only.”

“Don’t you think this changes things?” Sheridan asks, half-laughing. “I didn’t have to bring her to you.”

“I could swallow you whole and do what I like with her.” Susan’s voice remains perfectly level, but Janiel feels pinned in place. She aches for her wings – anything to carry her away from that easy promise of death.

But Sheridan shakes her head. “You’re too smart for that. This morning, you were right – we didn’t have anything to offer each other. Now, we have a way in.”

Janiel’s neck prickles. She has the uneasy feeling Sheridan is talking about her.

The demon walks over and hands her a cup of coffee. “Don’t drink it yet, it’s hot.”

“I know.” Janiel glares at her. The cup is still steaming. The surface ripples as her wrist begins to quiver under the weight, so instead she rests it lightly on one knee. “What exactly is this deal you’re talking about? What do you want with _me_?”

She doesn’t see what possible value she has here. She is a soldier who has been stripped of her weapons, a warrior of God who has long since lost faith, a newly-broken body still learning walk without wings. She has neither grace nor soul, and she is weak enough that either of these beings could destroy her in an instant.

“What do you think happens to the chicks that fall out of the nest?” Susan asks.

Janiel swallows. She hadn’t considered that. She was there when Castiel retrieved Samandriel’s body; she had heard what had happened to him. Information was power, and what was common knowledge in Heaven might still be worth killing over.

Angels are supposed to die rather than betray their sisters and brothers. But Janiel wants to live, and there are precious few left to betray.

Sheridan frowns. “This is a negotiation. You’re free to leave at any time, and we will not harm you.”

Janiel looks up sharply, wondering how the demon seemed to read her thoughts, but then she remembers the expressiveness of human faces. She is used to her emotions remaining private. Her self-control must have faltered yet again.

“But we won’t help you either,” Sheridan continues. “And since you don’t even know which state you’re in, it’s best you stick with us.”

Until now, Janiel hadn’t consciously realised that they had been speaking English, but she keeps that quiet.

“We all have different areas of expertise,” Sheridan says, and there’s a coaxing roundness to her voice as she slips into her sales pitch. “We all have things we want. What I propose is an alliance: equal say, equal share.”

“Why?” Janiel asks immediately. She may be bone-achingly frail, but the other two are not cut off from their own kind. If they’re seeking an alliance, they are bringing enemies with them.

Sheridan sighs. “The power in Hell is shifting. I’m getting out while I still have the chance.”

“You’re loyal to the old King?”

She snorts. “Crowley? He was an arrogant fool to think that one well-timed treachery earned him the right to rule. But I’ve breathed the same air as him, and this new Queen is a purist.”

Janiel frowns a little at that.

“What?” Sheridan demands. “Don’t tell me I shocked you. Hell goes through regents like silver through a shifter. Anyone who’s survived this long has learned when to cut their losses.”

That hadn’t been her concern, but Janiel shakes it off. She turns her attention to Susan, who seems bored by the discussion.

“And you?” she asks. “More disloyalty?”

The leviathan’s eyes narrow, and her expression grows cold.

“I served my commander unquestioningly for the entirety of time. I rose to fifth in command of our species in our assault on this planet. Everyone who outranked me is dead, but because I spent a year fetching coffee at my general’s orders, those who should follow me seem to believe that is all I’m good for.” She all but snarls out the last words. “Human prejudice is insidious.”

The silence after her words is too deafening to be broken, so instead Janiel sips at her coffee. It’s bitter, but the heat is pleasant, and as she forces herself to swallow she can feel the warmth sinking inside of her.

“What about you?” Susan demands. “Since we’re sharing life stories.”

Janiel drinks another mouthful, and collects her thoughts carefully.

“We were attacked,” she says, although in truth she’s not sure precisely what happened, only that she entered the office, and saw Naomi – “The leader of my faction was killed. I didn’t recognise the angel who did it, but they cast some kind of spell which stripped me of my grace. It’s likely others were affected, although I do not know how many.”

Susan raises her eyebrows. “I believe I’ve heard news of one or two more.”

Janiel isn’t surprised. If the aim was to destroy Naomi’s power base, it’s likely that the spell was widely cast. Dozens of angels could have fallen, most of them with even less idea than she had of why.

“Wait,” Sheridan says slowly. “Your faction?”

“What? Did I surprise you?” Janiel shoots back. “Heaven has been at war with itself for years. The days where angels followed orders without question died with Michael. Anyone who is left has learned how to pick a side.”

It hadn’t been easy – not after Castiel had turned ‘free will’ into the ultimate taboo. But Janiel had let herself choose to do what she thought was right. Naomi had vision, and the means to return Heaven to some form of order. Janiel had learned better than to let herself have faith, though – she always knew Naomi was fallible.

Now she had failed.

“Spells like that are hard to come across,” Susan comments.

“It’ll be from the angel tablet.” Sheridan shrugs, and both Janiel and Susan start. Sheridan chuckles. “What, like it’s a secret? Everyone knows about the tablets by now. The trick is in finding them. And getting the translator.”

The prophet, Kevin Tran, known to be under the protection of the Winchesters, Sam and Dean, two humans who associate frequently with the inconstant Castiel. Janiel had followed them in the search for the angel tablet; she knows their movements and their base.

“Good luck with that,” Susan comments. “You don’t have a hope of –”

“We have a chance.” Sheridan cuts her off, her eyes on Janiel. Her stare is level and expectant and the weight of it steals Janiel’s breath away.

Without Naomi, there is no clear path left. There is nothing a fallen angel could do to help Heaven. She is free from responsibility.

Yet all of her teachings say she should still not do this. She may be weary and isolated and unable to obey Heaven’s commands – she may even be so broken that she doesn’t _want_ to – but she is supposed to be greater than these creatures. She is supposed to have _grace_.

Only that’s long gone now, isn’t it?

If she is too proud, if she walks away, she is lost, and she can do nothing. If she accepts... The worst that can happen is that she helps to destroy everything.

Well. What could she call that, except history repeating itself?

“This deal,” she says suddenly. “We all have equal control?”

Sheridan nods.

Susan raises an eyebrow. “No commitment. We can walk away at any time.”

“Done.”

Janiel lunges forwards before any terms can be changed, meeting Sheridan’s lips in a kiss. It’s rough and clashing, and she curses her own clumsiness, but her heart pounds and she can’t make herself regret it.

If she has lost paradise, she may as well attempt _passion_.

She leans back after a couple of moments, and finds that Sheridan is flushed, perhaps even a little surprised, but as Janiel pulls away, a smile creeps across both of the demon’s faces.

“I’m not kissing you,” Susan comments drily.

“It isn’t that kind of deal,” Sheridan answers. “But I do appreciate the enthusiasm.”

She winks, and Janiel feels her lips begin to twitch and her diaphragm shudder.

She opens her mouth, and starts to laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> Janiel is based on Naomi's assistant from the end of 'Goodbye Stranger' as played by Theresa Wong ([cap](http://www.homeofthenutty.com/supernatural/screencaps/displayimage.php?album=174&pid=206278#top_display_media)). She also features in an [eponymous minific](http://centrumlumina.tumblr.com/post/46618584269/dean-and-castiel-and-some-five-dollar-foot-longs-i), although her backstory has been adapted to better fit the end of the season.
> 
> Sheridan is based on Crowley's "temp agency" demon from 'Taxi Driver' as played by Elizabeth Weinstein ([cap](http://www.homeofthenutty.com/supernatural/screencaps/displayimage.php?album=176&pid=208555#top_display_media)).
> 
> Susan was Dick Roman's secretary and a recurring character in season 7, played by Olivia Cheng ([cap](http://www.homeofthenutty.com/supernatural/screencaps/displayimage.php?album=156&pid=166705#top_display_media)).


End file.
